For Your Eyes Only
by ratsister
Summary: 1953. The Height of McCarthyism. A strange letter, one America cannot seem to ignore. What does it mean, and what will the consequences be if he acts on the compelling influence of his heart? RusAme, Rated T.
1. Invitation

_This is a three part RusAme Cold War story I've been working on for some time ~ on and off for months in my seemingly nonexistent spare time. _

_McCarthyism is at its height, spreading a plague of paranoia across the United States._  
_America however, has just recently received an invitation from Russia...one he simply can't ignore._

_Yes, I did steal the title from the Bond movie - XD It's just perfect for my little tale. _

_This__fic__is__ dedicated__to__Jovanke__, Мой дорогой верный друг, она будет стоять рядом со мной, с чем не жалею. __Да, дружище? :)_

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For Your Eyes Only - Part 1. America.

America. Washington DC. August 1953

Blue eyes focused on nothing in particular, simply somewhere on the nondescript wall across from him, as all his senses were instead tuned to the words being spoken in the room he currently stood just outside.

Ghostly in their fervor, the words floated to his ear through the door. The man inside who spoke them so aggressively would surely have been interested to know exactly who stood outside waiting to hear them.

"Sir, are you now, or have you ever been a member of the communist party?"

Straining to hear, while biting his lip, aware of the knots in his stomach, the tightness in his shoulder blades, America listened to hear the answer from yet another one of his citizens, one of the many government workers who had been called up before the committee of un-American affairs on charges of subversive, communist plots at least, and at worst, charges of spying, of handing over military secrets to Russia.

_Russia..._

As the man inside refused to answer, and Senator McCarthy's voice began to carry through the hall, his words running together as he accused the man in question of all manner of pro-soviet crimes, the unassuming blonde man in the hall continued to bite his lip, and burying his hands in his pockets, Alfred slipped away from the hearing and out of the building.

The paranoia felt by his people clouded his thoughts, recent events of the year swirling through his mind, from the changes in both he and Russia's bosses, as Eisenhower had been inaugurated in January, and Stalin had died and been seceded by Kruschev in March; Also in January his scientists had succeeded in the creation of the hydrogen bomb, and now, this very month Russia had been able to boast the same. He knew this newest development could only cause trouble in the years to come, but some sort of solution was beyond his vision.

Miserable over the deaths from tornadoes in Texas, Michigan, and Massachusetts just earlier that summer, the ever present problems between the races in the south, the alarming revolution in Cuba just earlier that year, and now the many, many Americans out of work and unable to find a new job due to blacklisting from supposed communist plots, America continued to chew on his bottom lip as he strolled toward his car.

Surely not all those people were guilty...  
And what of the ones who were? How many were guilty? And of those guilty, how many were simply guilty of joining the _wrong_political party...

Not so long ago, he and Russia had been allies..

America remembered the posters that had covered both their lands, posters of friendship, cooperation against the axis...

Were those days fully gone?

While America prospered following the second world war, he couldn't help but recall how desperately poor he'd been before...the 1930s had been a desolate time, a time when many of his people had found the ideals of socialism to be a golden light...equality...a feeling of collective community...

Why, he remembered well, Roosevelt's new deal, and all the many new regulations that generated better pay for American workers, and more accountability from the big corporations..

These were the very ideals he'd believed in since his birth.

But of course, this ideal of socialism that had bloomed across his nation during the great depression wasn't what was happening in Ivan's home.

The way the other powerful nation had spoken a mere few generations ago...Alfred knew, Ivan's words didn't jive with the actions of Russia's latest boss. What would this new one turn out to be like, he wondered, knowing his own intelligence agency was busy gathering information of their own on Russia's every move and scientific advance as his national security department worked round the clock to stop their Russian counterparts from doing the very same thing.

By now Alfred had gotten into his car, and as these thoughts circled themselves in his restless mind, he'd driven to the airport.

Stepping out of the car, and wiping the sweat from his brow, America took off his suit jacket and draped it in the crook of his arm. Leaning back against his royal blue 1940 Ford De Luxe, the conflicted super power pulled the letter from his pocket, a creased and many times folded letter from someone who he wasn't sure he could trust.

Alfred had been reading and re-reading the letter from Ivan since its arrival a week ago.

Today was the day he couldn't put off or ignore the letter anymore. He had to make a decision...

It appeared, in his tempestuous mental state, his body had decided for him, as he'd driven, as though a man compelled, he'd driven to the airport without making the conscious decision, without calling a single friend...

He could have told Canada, England, France, any number of trusted nations. Really, though, he knew each of them would only have talked him out of doing what he now knew he was going to go through with.

His feet carried him from the parking lot into the airport, from the airport to the seat aboard the plane bound for his northern most state.

He read over the letter again, for what must have been the thousandth time, his eyes looked over the handwriting he recognized...words that had miraculously survived the censors black marks, somehow found its way to him without his government being any the wiser..

Maybe Russia did have spies close by...

The concern of how the letter found its way into his mailbox added itself to the mental cloud swirling in his mind, as clear sky blue eyes looked over the words, the words meant only for him.

_Alfred, _  
_I will be between yesterday and tomorrow._  
_I would like to see you, if you can come. _  
_I will wait as long as I can, but do not think I can wait forever_.  
_- Ivan._  
_p.s. your Thursday, my Friday of the 2nd week of August. _

The letter was short, and as enigmatic as the writer, but never the less, there was the sense of something more behind the words, something not said.

He tucked the letter back into his pocket and settled into his seat as the plane took off, looking out the window at the bright summer sky he loved so well.

Between yesterday and tomorrow, that could only mean one place. The islands of Big and Little Diomede. The neighbors, only 2 miles, and yet a day apart, alone together in the Bering Strait.

One Ivan's the other, his.

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_I'll see you again in part 2: Russia. _

_I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it; reviews are always very welcome!_

_To readers of my other fics, the semester has been a particularly hard one, but is nearly over. I'm working hard on chapter 20 of 'It's Just Business' now and then will update many chapters of 'Potato Gnocchi' after that and then, finally update 'In the Shadows of the Black Forest' with the tales of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty in a double feature, so to speak, to make up for the months of not updating. Also, I've started the sequel to 'Ivan Kupala Day' and will be trying to make sure that is up at least by Halloween, the holiday in which it takes place :)_

_Thank you to readers of these fics for your patience, and thank you to new readers for your interest. _


	2. Between the days

Hello my beautiful readers! Shall we check in with Russia and travel along with him?

Da.

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**Chapter 2**  
**Russia. August 1953**

Days ago he'd left Moscow. He'd left and boarded the train toward Siberia. Russia had a long journey ahead of him, a point of pride of course, and so he'd left well before his rival.

The tall nation had begun discretely stepping away from his new boss and the other top politicians as the conversation ran the span of topics from the aftermath of the East German uprising in June to the ending of the Korean war just last month. Ivan had made a quick excuse for his absence; saying he would take the work he needed to do out of the capitol, he'd said he was going to one of his homes away from Moscow, but not to Leningrad, as he so often went, but to Sverdlovsk. Of course, he wouldn't be staying, his intentions required him to go further east.

He had sent the letter the moment he left Moscow, and yes, he had had spies in America.

Without his spy network there was no way his letter would have reached Alfred un-read. And Ivan had written those words for Alfred and Alfred alone.

In the days that America had agonized over those very words, Russia had traveled by train to Sverdlovsk, the city which was still Ekaterinburg in his heart, held memories both of bright happiness and darkest misery. It was this city which sat amidst his Urals like a gate to the vast east, and he looked forward to stopping for a moment in his home there; a home he rarely had the time to visit, so much of his time now spent in Moscow.

Looking to his watch, and thinking of the time he would need to reach Big Diomede, Ivan was pleased as to see he could take a moment to spend time in the city before leaving for Siberia.

Naturally his feet took him toward the historic center of the town. Walking east along Lenina, Ivan let his scarf hang loosely in the summer weather, and hands in his pockets, he wove in and out of the crowd, blending in with his people.

Passing the post office he continued north, and along Pushkina street toward the older part of the city.

Ivan's slight smile grew as the sun shown down upon him, it was always interesting to revisit his past. Some of his most talented writers had once called Ekaterinburg, or Sverdlovsk, home. His smile grew further as he strolled, remembering the many literary talents his nation could boast.

Pavel Bazhov, writer of folktales for children, who had died only 3 years ago had been from this city, had known it under both names as Ivan had himself. The small smile faded some. Ivan had been sorry to hear of his passing...humans never seemed to live long at all, and 71 was nothing to the ancient nation.

As he strolled, looking in at bits of his past, the thought of Alfred, where he was, what he was thinking of the letter, had he decided to come? These questions swirled in his mind as the sun lit the summer afternoon.

Ivan knew there was more between them. He remembered the friendly relations in the past, violet eyes looked to the sky as he thought of the recent advances in weapons technology and the increased tension...

These advances and the constant paranoia felt in both their homelands were part of the reason he knew he had to see Alfred again...that as well as the simple and true need to look into those eyes again, the very color of the sky above him.

Ivan's thoughts kept his attention far to the shore of the other nation...a nation from whom, it seemed he could expect more conflict in the years to come if they both stayed to the path they were currently walking.

The slavic nation's conflicted thoughts of what he wanted his future to be, as well as what his past had been swirled turbulently. A storm, similar to the American's thoughts as he read the letter so far away. Ivan snapped out of his reverie realizing his feet had wandered as well as his mind, he found himself walking west on Pervomaĭskaya, and changed streets before his footsteps took him to Tolmacheva and into a part of the past he would rather not think about..

No, he would walk far from the place of the last Tsar's death and instead return to the modern city and perhaps have some tea and a meal before boarding the train again for the east.

By the next day, Violet eyes watched his people, listening to their everyday conversations and worries as he rode the train east. Silently Ivan made a mental note of the topics and the feeling of his people, and behind his scarf, thoughtfully, he contrasted the concerns of his populace with that of his boss and the other politicians in Moscow.

When at last Ivan stepped from the train at its eastern most point in Vladivostok, his slight smile grew, as he breathed in the air of the northern Pacific Ocean.

It had been too long since he had come this far east, and Russia continued to smile as he rented a simple motorboat. Careful to not appear too ostentatious and arouse any suspicions that he was anything more than he appeared, the tall violet eyed nation selected a humble boat that would take him where he needed.

Looking to the sky as it was just beginning to darken, he knew he would have enough time to reach the place between the days where he had told Alfred to meet him.

It was a pleasantly warm August afternoon as Ivan stepped into the boat, started the engine and stood, enjoying the cooler wind from the north as it touseled silvery hair and breathed through him, invigorating as only the ocean's breeze could be.

A small chuckle escaped his throat at the thought that Alfred was unable to see the port city he was leaving behind. Keeping something from America always infuriated the ambitious younger nation. Though Russia did have hopes that someday his Soviet Union and Alfred's United States would have much better relations and that someday he could even show the American the beauty of his nation; walk around Lake Baikal, trek through the Urals, and then west to two capitals he'd known...

A sigh escaped from between his lips. That future seemed certain to be only a dream if the clashes of their ideals continued to hide what they had in common and accentuate their differences. Ivan thought over the concerns of the people he had overheard on the train and he wondered, what were the concerns of America's people...surely they were not so different.

Many hours later he waited. The cool air of the Bering straight now chilling the summer night.

Ivan waited in the dark between the two Islands, he willed that he and America be unseen by either the civilians living on yesterday's Island or the military base on his island of tomorrow.

Sitting in the seat on his the rented boat Ivan waited, and looked to his watch, calculating the time in America and where he could expect Alfred would be on his travels northwest from his capitol. That was, if he had decided to come. Ivan's smile dropped slightly as he chewed his bottom lip.

Would America be able to ignore his curiosity? Had the friendship they had had dissolved fully? Was he wrong to feel the way he felt...the tightness in his chest that accompanied the quickened pace of his heart? Had he been wrong to think he'd seen the same in America's eyes?

Behind the harsh words and condemnation hurled on either side, behind the paranoia, closed cities, and spies, there was a look, something the older nation noticed, and his younger rival had not learned to hide. No, Ivan was sure he had not been mistaken, but...whether America reacted on his feelings, whether he recognized that Russia had felt the same...this is what Ivan wondered now in the twilight between the Islands.

Just as he was beginning to think that surely he had been wrong, that America had given in to the growing paranoia instead of the thought of what could be, he heard it. The sound of an engine, and accompanying the sound, a light that quickly went out as it rounded the nearby shore of Little Diomede.

Russia stood from his seat and in only a few minutes, arm outstretched, the Soviet Union welcomed the United States aboard his boat.

Alfred looked to Ivan in the growing dark, a little voice in his mind questioning his intentions. Never the less, the blonde smiled, a little more hesitant than was usual, and took the offered hand. Stepping from his own boat rented in Alaska, onto the one that had traveled from Vladivostok, blue eyes looked into violet, as their fingers stayed intertwined, though the need had past along with any pretense at simply an aid for balance.

Both nation's hearts beat loudly in their ears. The thoughts of what their bosses would think far, far from their minds.

"You came." Ivan's voice was softer, lower than Alfred had heard it in meetings past.

to Russia's ears, America's voice was also different when far from the heated topics of meetings between their nations. Alfred's response, and the widening smile that accompanied the lighter, less boisterous voice stirred the warmth in Ivan's heart and told him he had not been mistaken to write the letter.

Alfred ignored the beating of his heart, so loud in his ears, the blood rushing through him, and surely coloring his cheeks. Clearing his throat, continuing to look into the other nation's violet eyes, and feel the way their fingers laced together, he moved closer as he spoke. "You asked."

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_End of Chapter 2~ _

_Chapter 3 will be a bit longer, and updated next week! _

_I hope all you lovelies a wonderful day/night! Thanks to all who faved, and especially thanks to **yo wuz up** for my first review on this fic!_

_I await your thoughts with bated breath, my darling readers! ^_^ See you next chapter on the Bering Strait!  
_


	3. To hell with Senator McCarthy!

Hello my lovely readers! The final installment of 'For Your Eyes Only'

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**Chapter 3**  
**The Bering Strait. Between Yesterday and Tomorrow. August 1953.**

For some time blue eyes looked into violet; not another word was said as the two rivals stood chest to chest in the simple motorboat. Rocked by gentle waves, the two nations swayed together with the rhythm of the sea.

Fingers of one hand still intertwined, each man was unsure what to say to the other. The years of hostility, threats, and paranoia hanging around them, causing each to pause before speaking the words that waited to come.

At last, his violet eyes intent, Russia broke the silence.

"You are saying all I had to do was ask?" Blown by the cool wind, pale hair moved across his eyes as the Slavic nation leaned closer to the American. Ivan's lips were inches from Alfred's, his words a whisper in the evening, "You were waiting for invitation, da?"

The blood rushing to his cheeks, America moved to back up from the other superpower only to find the hand not intertwined with his had encircled his back.

"H-Hey now!" Blue eyes wide behind the lenses of his largest southern state. "This had better not be some commie trick!"

Already doubting himself, America began to panic. Had he really not told anyone where he was going? Had he really left DC without saying a thing? Surely this had been madness, Surely the way he'd felt had been some sort of...the racing of his heart, the tightening of his stomach, the way he...each time that...in every meeting...and when he read the paper, Ivan's actions always making the headlines...

And the...the surprising warmth of the hand at his back...The way Ivan's violet eyes shown in the dying light of the sun, so weak now at the horizon.  
Was that a look of dismay he saw in the Russian's eyes?

Alfred relaxed again into Ivan's arm, "Well no, I, I didn't mean-" Conflicted over his own thoughts, the United States felt an overpowering urge to comfort the Soviet Union.

But then the spies! The American stiffened again, releasing Russia's hand, putting both his palms to the other nation's broad chest, Alfred switched his stance.

"But..you're stealing my military secrets! And what did you mean by that cryptic letter? How did you get it to me anyway? There wasn't a stamp...the...you... you just want capitalism to fail..." America's words faded as he looked to the larger nation. "You just want me to fail.."

Ivan continued to rest his hand at the small of Alfred's back. It had seemed to be going so well until they had started to speak; were they doomed to argue? Would it always come down to politics?

Although, Ivan realized suddenly, Alfred hadn't tried to back away again. For all he'd said, the American still stood close, still looked up into his eyes as though his thoughts were as complex as Russia's own.

"Alfred," Ivan's heart beat faster, hopeful that his actions would not be misunderstood, Russia moved now to add his other hand at America's back, fully circling the younger superpower.

"Do you truly think I want you to fail?" Heart rate continuing to increase, as did his hopes, the violet eyed nation went on, "We are more than our policies and words of our bosses, da?"

"Oh...well, yeah..I um..." Why was he so at loss for words? Why was his chest suddenly so tight? Thankful the night covered his blush and nerves, Alfred gathered himself together. _This was no way for a hero to act. _

Clearing his throat, his hands relaxing against Ivan's chest, Alfred allowed himself to be drawn closer to the other powerful nation. "Look, I don't really want you to fail either you know...I just.."

Trailing off again, unsure of the exact words he wanted to say, America flashed a bright grin, using his natural exuberance as a defense against a rapid heart rate and sudden rise in temperature. "So what d'ya wanna see me for so bad, anyway?" Before Ivan had a chance to answer, Alfred was sure his heart would beat clear out of his chest, as obeying the dangerous desires of that organ over the questions in his mind, the proudly capitalist nation rose his hands up to rest on the staunch socialist's shoulders.

The only physical barrier between them now gone, the two stood in the motorboat in the space between the days, chest to chest, hip to hip. Continuing his show of bravado, vowing never to let the other see how weak he now felt, at the whim of his overwhelming emotions, America looked up into Russia's eyes unaware of how powerless the larger nation felt as well,

"Why did you send me that letter?"

Ivan's breathe held fast in his throat as he pulled Alfred closer.

Knowing what he was now about to do, unable to resist the urges of his soul, the powerful need to know if what he felt was love, to know if his love could be returned by the man who was at once so foreign, and yet, so similar, Ivan lowered his face closer to the nation whose heart he could now feel racing in equivalence to his own.

"Why did you come?"

His words whispered, so close to America's lips, Ivan waited but a moment for a response.

A response which Alfred was unsure about how to give. "I well, you know we were once friends, and all, and you know...Things have been sorta...and when I got your letter...which I still don't know how you got to me!" The blushing American went on, unable to take his eyes off the Russian's lips as Ivan's enigmatic smile grew. "I - I you know, damnit..."

Russia watched as America mentally psyched himself up; Ivan had to admit seeing the other superpower so flustered was only adding to his resolve.

Blue eyes lit with a fire the blonde could no longer control, Alfred stopped stammering; his thoughts commanding him to take control of the situation.

_Get it together Al, you're America, the strongest, most heroic, best nation ever! _

Hands balling into fists behind the taller nation's neck, Alfred spoke at last, the heat between them building to a point he was unable to ignore. "Damnit Ivan! You know why I -"

But before America's sentence was complete, Russia acted.  
Ivan had brought their lips together. His question answered, Russia now knew America had felt the same desire, the drive to see him as he had to see the other, to feel the other man's heart beating against his own, to feel his breath, to taste the flavor of his lips, and hold him close.

In a single movement both nations had done what would scandalize their bosses, most of their people, and many of the other nations as well.

America's hands twisting now in the pale hair of the larger nation as Russia's roamed the other's back, clutching his rival turned lover close. Each nation surprised to find the other's kiss so soft, the taste of the other intoxicating in its difference, yet familiar in some way, they seemed to fit together.

Neither cared one bit what anyone else might think at that moment; perhaps they'd care later but at this moment in time it was only the touch, the thoughts of the other man that mattered at all to either of the two most powerful nations on Earth.

America breathed in Russia's scent as he deepened the kiss. Maybe it was madness, but he was suddenly unable to care about politics, about who was spying on who... Intoxicating, the scents of rye and wheat, the clear crisp scent of birch and pine, the heady aroma of coal and metals were musky, natural, and overpowering.

As Alfred was lost in the natural scent of Russia's main productions, so too was the Slavic nation lost in his. Their bodies so close, hearts leaping together, Ivan felt Alfred's heat wash over him, their lips locked together, each reveling in the taste of the other nation, Russia breathed deeply of America; now his question had been answered, Ivan was unsure what his next move should be.

So compelled had he been to meet with America, to know if his impossible feelings could be reciprocated, that only now, with America's fingers running through his hair, his own settled possessively at each of the western nation's hips, only now as their tongues intertwined and chests pressed close together that the seriousness of what he had done fell cold and hard as lead in Ivan's heart.

But cold and leaden with seemingly inevitable doom as it was, his heart never the less quickened in it's beating, railing against the cage of his ribs, as bright blue eyes opened and looked up into his own.

Breaking from their kiss, America felt the heat that had spread across his body move over his face and up to his ears. His own thoughts along the same lines as Ivan's as he laced his fingers together at the back of the larger nation's neck.

Though Alfred knew if he was honest with himself, he was still afraid to trust his rival, America was determined not to give in to uncertainty, at least not to let Russia see his uncertainty. Alfred's gaze unwavering from the piercing violet eyes of the other superpower, his words came carefully and more confident than his racing heartbeat.

"Well, where do we go from here, Ivan?"

Meeting the other man's calculated words and confident stance, Ivan leaned in, taking the slightly shorter man's chin in his hand as he spoke with equal certainty.

"Call me Vanya."

Again Russia's lips met America's, his hands pulling the other powerful nation close. Ivan would never admit to the panic in his thoughts which hid behind the confident words he'd spoken.

The Soviet Union hoped the United States wouldn't notice he hadn't answered the question.

Now that he'd gotten this far, Ivan had no idea how he would proceed.

Russia was not alone in uncertainty. No matter how he wanted to appear, America had asked that question for the very reason that he himself had no answer.

Both nations, unwilling to admit they had not thought this through, instead buried their concerns in the kiss, waiting to see what actions the other would take.

As the boat rocked in the cold waves of the strait, the Russian and the American stood wrapped together, chest to chest, each heart racing, betraying emotions each man fought to keep contained.

Still surprised to find Ivan's lips so soft, the hands at his back cool, yet warm as they held him close, Alfred felt his own defenses slipping just slightly, a low moan escaping his throat to vibrate the kiss he deepened, their second in only so many moments, and he hoped, not the last.

When at last they parted, America's hands were no longer linked at Russia's scarf clad neck, but up and into the slavic nation's pale hair. Unspeaking, each man looked to the other, breathing in shallow, uncertain, but hopeful breathes. Ivan's hands explored Alfred's back, one at the small, bringing their hips into contact, one between the shoulders, pressing chest to chest, America's heartbeat an echo of his own.

For some time they stood in the wind, rocking with the waves. The two superpowers content to will for a stillness of time, for the freedom to simply feel the other's presence so close, so warm, so desired.

_But how could they hope to continue this?_The thought wriggled worm-like into America's mind. Surely Ivan had the same doubts? What then, was the use of this dangerous confession, except to share the misery that they could never be together? That this attraction would never be allowed to grow?

His hands slipping from the windswept hair to drop between them, each resting on Russia's broad chest as if a barrier of reason, Alfred at last broke the silence.

"You know, you didn't answer my question."

"Ah.." The taller man straightened, relaxing his hold on the other, Ivan stepped toward the one bench on board. "Nyet." He spoke soft, under his breath. "I did not..."

Both Russia's hands had left America's back, but one had been caught by the younger nation as it left, and now held in a warm grip. Ivan was startled as Alfred continued to hold his hand, sitting beside him on the bench.

"Well yeah, I noticed," America's grin was wide, eyes sparkling in the moonlight as he spoke, "I notice everything!"

"You do, hmm?" Russia chuckled, violet eyes meeting those of blue before dropping to the deck.

Silence fell between them. The only sound, that of the waves crashing against their two islands.

Russia's thumb moved in thoughtful circles against America's hand, his thoughts tugging in different directions as they swirled through his mind.

_America had come; he had felt the same way_. Even now, the western nation held his hand, fingers clasped around his own..._but they were rivals, how much could he really trust Alfred, even though he wanted desperately to do so?_

Russia looked up as clouds passed across the moon; he turned toward the shadow beside him, and in the dark, he spoke. "America, ...Alfred," His words came carefully, each syllable pulling on his heart as he would never let the other man know. "I do not know what the future will bring. In my experience, future is a difficult thing to predict." Becoming aware of the movements of his thumb, Ivan held it still. Reaching the other hand up to rest on the beloved shadow's shoulder, he turned fully on the bench.

Perhaps it was the added experience, the long years of his long life spurring him on to take each moment as he could; when the world was an unpredictable place, each missed moment lived on, a regret in his heart. Perhaps it was this, perhaps it was simply inevitable that here in the space between time, between their lands, Russia swallowed his doubts; he pushed away the paranoia and fear which hung as a cloud over both their nations.

The blood rushing from his rapid heart ran furiously, bringing with it heat which reached across his face. His grip on Alfred's shoulder tightened as Ivan thanked the clouds above for hiding the flush that colored his cheeks. Sensing the restlessness across from him, as Alfred prepared to speak, Ivan rushed to continue, the serious tone of his first syllable catching the full attention of the man to whom he spoke.

"Alfred, you came, and you feel as I do." Ivan's free hand slid from shoulder to neck, toying absently with his rival turned love's fine golden hair. "This is all that is needed." His words were spoken for himself as much as for America. The desire to trust Alfred would have to suffice; regardless of the climate of distrust between them, Ivan knew the demands of his own soul, crying out to say the words he now spoke, to do what he had done. "No matter the future, if we deny our hearts, we will lose them."

Taken aback by words America had never thought the Soviet Union to say, on a night he had never thought to happen, when he had admitted the attraction he had tried to hide from even himself, Alfred swung one leg over the bench, turning to mirror Ivan's stance. Their hands still clasped between them, he raised his other hand to the one now twirling the hairs along his neck.

"I...I... well yeah." It was a far cry from the words Ivan had spoken with purpose; none the less, they conveyed his thoughts, as he went on, leaning forward in the dark. "But what about-"

America's words stopped on his tongue. His sentence brought to a halt by the movement of the moon, and his companion's sudden expression. Alfred's eyes, bright once more, blinked in the moonlight reflecting from the waters. The light came unexpected to pupils that had grown accustomed to the dark.

Russia's heart clenched at the sight of the eyes that captivated him, so like a summer sky; Ivan's free hand moved, taking the other man by the chin, he spoke fast, giving not a thought to the fact that his words wouldn't be readily understood by the man for whom they were intended. "Bozhe moi, moi mysli uletuchivayutsya, kogda ya vizhu tvoi golubiye glaza. Zhiznʹ bez lyubvi, eto ne zhizn."

Ivan's own eyes were brightened by the same light, their violet hue both soft and intense as he gazed at his rival's face. Unmoving and silent, the Soviet Union held the chin of the United States.

Unable to look away, Russia's thoughts circled out of control - what was it, really, that he had started by this action? The words that had come unbidden from his heart repeated in his mind; his words - _A life without love is no life at all_. Love. When each day brought the threat of mutual destruction, when neither side could truly trust the other, ideological differences pushing them into paranoia and impulsive reactivity...

What had he done? What was he now doing? If this tightening of his chest was a symptom of the most dangerous of emotions...had he, at last, lost his mind?

It didn't matter.

As Ivan wrestled with his emotions and the lack of a thorough plan for what to do if Alfred had indeed returned his affections, the other superpower was fighting his own inner struggle.

Together, the two most powerful nations rocked with the waves, moonlight dancing across their faces in ripples. America's left hand was still at his neck where Ivan's had been a moment ago; the fingers of his right hand still holding Russia's left, resting against the cool wood of the bench upon which they sat.

Alfred's thoughts were a perfect mirror to Ivan's.

Of course, he did not realize how exactly the same they were.

Blue eyes blinked in confusion, but did not look away. Captivated by the electric violet gaze of his rival as much as Ivan was held by his own, Alfred simply blinked. His brow creased slightly at the foreign words. He really should have worked harder on learning Russian as his boss had suggested.

"Uh.." Leaning slightly forward, America smiled wide to hide his uncertainty. "What?"

Finally breaking eye contact, Russia held his position, never backing up as America leaned closer. The taller nation cleared his throat as he prepared to translate the words that he wondered now if he should have spoken.

No sooner had the doubt entered his mind, than Ivan instantly regretted it. He had wanted Alfred to come, he had written the letter, he had lay awake for countless nights with worry and impossible to ignore desire. He would not be weak now, he would move only forward.

Releasing America's chin, Ivan once again let his hand rest at his rival's neck where it now covered Alfred's own.

"I apologize Alfred. My heart spoke without censorship." Raising his eyes again to look directly into America's, Russia was determined he would show neither vulnerability nor regret. He had meant his words.

"I said, my thoughts fly away when I look into your eyes. Alfred, I cannot concentrate on anything other than their blue." Heart racing at the blush creeping across the American's face, Ivan continued. "Life without love is no life at all; there is no plan. For love one can but sigh in secret. There is no strategy. It is simply that I would regret it for all my existence if I did not ask you to meet me here now."

Silence followed Ivan's words.

Alfred's thoughts raced through his mind with feverish speed. Each question went unanswered, and he found there was no answer needed. They'd lived before these recent tensions, and hopefully would survive them as well. Unless their people did carry out the threats of destruction, this would simply be a period of time like all others before it. Alfred had lived through war; in a way he'd been born through it. His lips twitched in a slight smile at the history they had shared. Of course, Russia had been there at each point in his life.

From mediating between he and Arthur in the early 1800s, to standing beside him later in that century during the civil war, when Ivan had urged reunification and tried to initiate talks between his northern and southern states. Ivan had even turned to Francis and Arthur and encouraged a meeting mediated by them. Alfred remembered Ivan's concern when the talks were never held; he would always be grateful for his continued support during that time. In turn, Alfred remembered well the largest ship built in America, the General-Admiral, built on his shores for the Russian navy, both he and Ivan had celebrated its launch in 1850. And when Russia needed engineers for the Moscow-St. Petersburg railroad, America had supplied one of his best. During the Crimean war, Alfred had sent doctors, and during the famines of 1891-93 he'd sent food and aid. Though he had been late to enter the Great War, America had supplied weapons and materials to Russia as soon as it began. In 1917, he had been the first to recognize the provisional government after the tsar's abdication.

Of course there had been that awkward time following the bolshevik revolution, but diplomatic relations opened again in the thirties.

That decade had been difficult for both of them.

Now they were here, in the space between borders, between time. In this uncertain era, when it was "with us or against us", when the slogan was "better dead than red", when science had advanced to a wondrous and horrifying degree. The cost of which America would never forget, though his people may have a shorter memory, of the price of a weapon he dearly did not want to use again, and never against Russia. Never against Ivan.

In this uncertain time, in a place between days, away from the pressures of their bosses and the fears of their people...maybe the question of consequences could be left unanswered.

What must be satisfied instead, was the aching of his heart, the craving for understanding and desire for this era of fear to end, a desire to feel the surprising softness of Ivan's kiss more than twice. He didn't want to think about whether it was best to trust the nation, the man, across from him. He simply did.

Finally surfacing from his reverie, Alfred noticed Ivan's expression betraying the vulnerability the other surely didn't want him to see. He noticed the way Russia's hand had grown colder in his grip.

Smiling again, his mind made up, Alfred acted fast; the United States closed the space between he and the Soviet Union, only releasing Ivan's hand in order to wrap both of his own around the slavic nation's waist.

Pressing himself close against the other man, Alfred wasted no time with his answer. "Yeah, you're right; life's not worth living if you haven't got love!" His heart thrilling at the sensation of Ivan's hands, which had moved as he had, and were in an instant at his shoulders, in the next at his neck and then, as Alfred scooted close as he could, pulling the taller man nearer to him, Ivan's cool fingers were up into his hair, brushing through Alfred's golden locks as their lips met for the third time.

This third meeting, a fuller, deeper understanding, was as an electric shock connecting their hearts as truly as their lips. Neither in control, but both equal in intensity. Each tongue granted access to explore the taste and feel of the other, each pair of hands pulling the other closer, America grasping Russia's waist and back as though clinging to the Urals; Russia running fingers through America's hair as though racing through the golden wheatfields of the great plains.

Gasping for air, Alfred paused, his face flushed, blue eyes clouded over as he spoke. "To hell with Senator McCarthy!" He smiled, temperature rising, thrilling as Ivan's grasp on his hair pulled them back together, "To hell with tha conse-quin..ffes.." His words, muffled and nearly lost in the resumed and deepened kiss.

After what seemed a happy eternity, far from fears of nuclear war, far from ideological argument and the issues of proxy wars, reluctantly, the two superpowers parted. Both pairs of lips, swollen and pink, echoed a soft smile at the other.

His hands still at Ivan's waist, Alfred leaned down and looked out at the indigo night, following the trail of the moon's light from the sky onto the waves. His head now against Russia's broad chest, America spoke his fear as it would not be ignored forever.

"But Ivan...Vanya, " He began in a sigh, "What will really happen?" Closing his eyes against the moon and the beauty of the night, Alfred continued, "You know as well, perhaps, no - certainly more than I, we can't control the will of our people, the waves of their fears, and what happens when we're swept up in them...We can't control our bosses or what they choose to do."

It was true; more than true, it was an undeniable and inevitable problem, something which would always be a reminder of their true nature. A problem with no real answer.

Russia thought for some time; finally, wrapping his arms around America, he rested his chin on the blonde head which now lay against his heart. "Da, I do know."

Violet eyes looked toward the shore of his Island, looking physically to the future as his thoughts looked to the past. "I know; I cannot promise the future will be easy, in fact, I believe it will prove to be very difficult. It is true we cannot calm the fears of our people no more than we can control the actions or words of our bosses."

Feeling the younger nation in his arms sigh again, Russia raised a hand into America's golden hair once more, toying with the signature cowlick, "I can promise you one thing; _I _will never be your enemy Alfred."

America's response was a muffled whisper from where he lay his head. "Ditto."

"Mm?" Russia's questioning murmur had barely been spoken before America went on, his words stronger and clearer. "_I'll_ never be _your _enemy either."

The night passed as they sat together, for some time silent, content to be in eachother's arms, hope flooding each nation's heart, no matter how tremulous it was. Both powerful nations felt understanding rather than fear of the unknown; felt love rather than hate in the other's arms.

As the weak grey light of the coming down peaked over the horizon, they smiled, laughed and spoke of good times. When the grey light turned to pink, the rising sun chasing the moon westward, they whispered words of reassurance, promises of trust at least between them, if not their people, and each, leaning on the other, breathed confessions of love.

No mention was made of the current affairs they had left behind; these troubles would still be waiting for their return. No need to discuss the only recently ended Korean war, the bomb, or the troubles in Germany.

Instead, it was unspoken that these problems would continue, but now both would try to calm the mounting fears, both would try to maintain a clear head. Both promised that no matter the official decisions made by their nations, they would meet together in secret again. In secret they could speak from their own hearts, colored by the experiences they had lived, not the shorter lives of their bosses or the frenzied fears of the populace.

"I will write to you again." Ivan's words were soft as his lips, and as strong as his grip around Alfred's back as the two stood chest to chest, reluctant to depart.

Finally with great hesitation, America took a step away, one foot now on his boat. Still unsure of the wisdom of his actions, but certain of the desires of his heart, and afraid of how long it may be until they could meet again, the United States looked to the Soviet Union, as the sun rose brightly above.

His words a promise, Alfred's eyes locked onto those of Ivan's as the distance began to increase; but a few feet now, it would soon be much greater.

"I will come."

* * *

And he did.

Not only did they find time to meet after each heated summit of the fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties in each location they were held, but each time Alfred found a letter mysteriously slipped beneath his door, they would meet in their place between time, between borders. While the space race was ignited and blasted into history, during the missile crisis in Cuba, the Vietnam war, as the Berlin wall went up, and finally when it came down; at each time, the two nations tried to put aside their official actions and be simply Ivan and simply Alfred.

They met again and again, as love blossomed between them, and though it was not always easy to put aside the issues which made up the Cold War, each time they promised to meet again.

One day in 1991, as they met at their secret place between yesterday and tomorrow, it was no longer the United States and the Soviet Union, but though Russia's official name had changed it was not the first time it had done so; and still, the two embraced as Ivan and Alfred.

They promised to continue to meet, perhaps now in public, but always also here, in the place that only they knew, where first America had taken a chance and flown west as Russia went east to meet between time and answer not to their bosses, but to their hearts.

* * *

_The End! _

_I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here are some extra little tidbits:  
_

**I used this poem for the words "For love one can but sigh in secret"**

www. pskovgo. narod. ru /poems/kiss. htm

**And this great list of historical highlights:**  
www. state .gov/p/ eur/ci/rs/ 200years/c30273. htm# crimean

**And it's too bad this poem was written later than the story's setting, but I'm gonna include it, just because it's awesome:**

famouspoetsandpoems poets/andrei_voznesensky/po ems/ 22227

**Also: there are two songs for this fic I'd like to share:**

**1. "State of Blue Eyes" sent to me from my dear friend Jovanke**, which inspired the line about his thoughts flying away when he looks at Alfred's eyes:

**Read the lyrics here**: You'll need to translate them – I think you can translate the page, if not, you can copy/paste into google translate and hopefully it'll work out. ;)

www. dolsky. ru/show_arhive. php?id =167

**Listen to it here:**

www. youtube watch ?v=hSOVnI72x1g

**2. "Somewhere only we know" which was suggested by my sister Abbygreeneyes**

www. youtube watch ?v=SGBLiGFaddo

**_Alright~ thanks for reading my darlings! I'll have all my other fics updated VERY soon now, I promise! I await your reviews on the edge of my seat!_**


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